


finding strenght in fragile things

by whiplash



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Drug Addiction, Episode Tag, Friendship, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV Minor Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4828517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplash/pseuds/whiplash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Events on the Avignon in the aftermath of Johnny's stabbing, as seen through Pawter's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	finding strenght in fragile things

“I’m doctor Illenore Seyah Simms of Land Simms,” Pawter says for what must be the fifth time, her voice cool and crisp even as she hides her shaking hands behind her back, “medical authorization number five four alpha nine.”

To her relief most of the medteam’s too professional to spare her more than glance. Instead they swarm around the gurney carrying Johnny onto the Avignon, working quickly and efficiently as they strip him down and connect him to the monitoring devices. The doctor in charge, a short and tired-looking man in his late forties, doesn’t bother to introduce himself though but just glowers at her impatiently. Waiting for her to report, she realizes. It’s been a long time since she worked with a team. 

“His name’s John Jaqobis,” she begins, straightening her back under his obvious disapproval. “He’s a reclamation agent, level three. No known previous health issues. Suffers from massive blood loss due to trauma to the abdomen, upper right quadrant. A knife wound, from the look of it. Shows symptoms of hypovolemic shock. I’ve done an emergency transfusion as we’re both blood type O but you’ll need to do further compatibility tests. He’s been given oxygen and fluids during the evac, but he needs surgery ASAP.” 

“With all due respect,” doctor no-name says, “that’s our call, not yours. _Seyah_.” 

His lips curl at her title. As if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. That’s all right. The Trees know that she’s not too fond of it herself. But that doesn’t mean that she won’t use it – won’t, in fact use every bit of advantage that she can lever with the name of her ancestors – to save a friend. 

“And I trust you’ll make the right call,” she replies, channeling her mother’s chill superiority. 

The doctor doesn’t reply, just turns his back on her and refocuses his attention on Johnny. The thin whip of a nurse next to him, the one who’d been taking notes on her pad while Pawter reported, shifts unhappily from one foot to another before finally opening her mouth. 

“Excuse me, Seyah,” she breathes, her voice reedy and anxious, “but do you know if he has any next of kin?” 

xxx 

She calls D’avin first but he doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. She leaves a message, brief and to the point. _Johnny’s hurt. Call me. It’s urgent._ As professional as it gets. As professional as she should have been from day one. As professional as she would have been, in another universe where she wasn’t the queen of poor judgement. 

She takes a moment to splash her face with cold water before dialing Dutch. Her hands shake as she dries them under a blast of hot air. The face meeting hers in the mirror is pale, forehead shiny with sweat and lips pale. The blood transfusion had been necessary and she doesn’t regret it for a moment, however she knows that she’ll now have to deal with the fallback. They will have to test the blood, both hers and his. At the very least to make sure that they are truly compatible, both in blood type and antibodies. But any half-dedicated medlab drone will screen for drugs as well. And then she will be well and truly fucked. 

Pawter exhales shakily, giving in to the inevitable. She needs a fix. 

But before that she needs to call Dutch. 

xxx 

Dutch presses her fingers against the glass window, leaving dirty smears behind on the otherwise pristine surface. In some ways she looks even worse than Johnny, her face grotesquely swollen and a clump of hair missing from the back of her head. When she speaks, it re-opens her split lip. Pawter offers her an anti-septic wipe, watching in morbid fascination as Dutch presses it against her lip without flinching. 

“Will he die?” Dutch asks again, her hoarse voice suggesting that someone had done a damn good job of trying to strangle her recently. She keeps her eyes on Johnny as she speaks, giving the impression that she’s worried that he’ll disappear if she as much as blinks. 

“They deemed him stable enough for surgery,” Pawter says, without answering the question. Well aware that she’s putting her wellbeing on the line by giving a level five RAC agent false hope, she then forces herself to add: “He’s in critical condition, Dutch. But they’ll do their best.” 

Out of the corner of her eye she then catches a glimpse of a familiar face outside the door. And it’s not that she forgets about her duties as a doctor. It’s not that she wants to abandon Dutch. Or leave Johnny unsupervised under the care of the company doctors. But her heart’s hammering in her chest and there’s something huge and ugly trying to claw its way out of her belly. 

She’s no good to anyone like this. And maybe that’s something she tells herself to make it easier to leave, but that doesn’t stop it from being fundamentally true. Johnny and Dutch needs Pawter here, but as a doctor not as a strung-out addict. 

“Excuse me,” she murmurs, “I’ll be right back.” 

xxx 

Pree has brought her a dose from the clinic. He doesn’t offer pity or judgment, just fishes the crotch-warm syringe out of his tight trousers and then politely looks away while she injects herself. She owes him, she acknowledges, adding it on to the tab she’s already running. Then she stops thinking altogether. 

Warmth floods back into her body. For a moment she’s floating, boneless and carefree. Her skin hums with life. Her fears about being caught disappear, like a bad dream at the approach of dawn. She feels like a child, cradled in her nanny’s arms. Or a seed, carried from the tree by a warm wind so that it might fall into soft and fertile ground. 

Nothing, absolutely nothing, can compare with a pure jakk high. Pawter knows because by now she’s pretty sure she’s tried it all. 

“How’s Johnny?” Pree asks, dragging her back to the present. 

She blinks a few times, rolling her shoulders as she lands in her own body again. 

“Bad,” she answers, snapping the safety sheathe in place over the syringe before stashing it in her bra. “And I can’t even get a hold of D’avin. He won’t take my calls. He needs to be there in case….” 

“I’ll try and get a hold of him,” Pree promises, his face far more serious than she’s used to seeing it. “What about Dutch? How’s she holding up?” 

Pawter thinks of Dutch pressing her forehead against that glass window, leaving behind bloody fingerprints. She’d looked heart-broken, young and wide-eyed and vulnerable. It didn’t suit her. Didn’t suit any woman, really, not in a place like the Quad. 

“She’ll need her friends,” she eventually answers. “All of you.” 

“All of us, sweetheart,” Pree corrects her, his voice oddly kind. “All of us.”


End file.
